


Chance Encounters

by mourningmarlowe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7888120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mourningmarlowe/pseuds/mourningmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lucky find in a university donation box leads to several chance encounters between a struggling social activist and a wise-cracking artist, and it isn't long before others get caught in the middle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Swap Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Modern E/R fic in a university setting with multiple relationships.

Enjolras had never expected to find himself at his dormitory's swap shop; at least, not in his current position, and certainly not at eleven at night. It was a clever idea: students could drop off clothing, pieces of furniture, old textbooks and the like that they no longer needed, then go through and pick out what they wanted for themselves. Enjolras had donated items before, but now he was there for an entirely different reason, glancing furtively around the space to ensure that none of his friends were there to recognize him. It wasn't that he thought himself above charity. He was just embarrassed to be on the receiving end, a blow to his considerable pride. But he was in desperate need of a warm jacket. His favorite red coat, though still in good condition considering the amount of use it saw, was geared more towards appearance than actual warmth, a fact his friend Combeferre had pointed out on more than one occasion. Now, Enjolras found that he didn't have the money to go out and buy a new jacket. He barely had enough money for food. None of the others knew this, of course, and he fully intended to keep it that way. If they found out just how hard off he really was, there would be nothing short of an intervention, and he was far too proud to allow his friends to take pity on him. 

So it was that he found himself going over to one of the long foldout tables and beginning to pick gingerly through one of the boxes filled with carelessly tossed clothing. A pair of dark skinny jeans, a pink cashmere crop jacket with 'Baby' on the front. He sighed, continuing to dig through the box until something caught his eye and he paused. The garment was a dark, muted shade of green, and he pulled it out to find it was a zip-up hoodie, too large for him, and yet he didn't put it back right away. It seemed well-worn but still comfortable, and certainly warm. Further examination revealed paint stains of various colors on the cuffs of the sleeves. Enjolras glanced over his shoulder as though he were stealing the jacket rather than taking it as the donation it was intended to be, confirming he wasn't seen before carefully folding the hoodie and holding it against his chest, slipping out of the community center just as furtively as he'd come in. He walked down the hall to the elevator, taking it up to his floor. 

Enjolras shared the two bed dorm with Marius, a pre-law student who was rarely ever home, more often than not studying at the library or else with his girlfriend Cosette, a young woman with whom Enjolras always enjoyed speaking as they tended to get into thoughtful conversations on topics ranging from social work, to gender equality, to foreign policy. He got along decently with Marius as well; the young man was passionate, and intelligent, though they didn't always see eye to eye on certain issues. True to form, his freckled roommate wasn't there when he keyed into the dorm, and Enjolras couldn't say he was disappointed. It was becoming more and more difficult, and stressful, dodging questions from his friends, making excuses as to why he could never go out. He went into his room and closed the door, unfolding the jacket to examine it more closely. It smelled faintly of oil paints, which made sense considering the stains, and there was something else he couldn't quite identify but was certainly not unpleasant. Something vague, like the smell of earth, or rain. 

Finally he actually slipped the jacket on, reaching back to free his blond curls from the hood. It was definitely too big for him, but warm like he'd hoped. If anyone asked, he could always claim that he'd borrowed the jacket from someone in one of his courses who hadn't cared enough to get it back. Almost on a whim, he reached into the pockets, surprised when he actually felt something in one of them and pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. His brow furrowed in curiosity as he unfolded it. It was a note, handwritten in pencil, and he noticed that the lines seemed unusually fine, but dark, as though made with an artist's drawing tool. It was a bit like a mystery, all these little clues about the jacket's previous owner, and the note gave him one more, reading, 

'To whom it may concern, 

Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of this well-loved jacket. It has seen the floor of many a bedroom, but I assure you it's been washed. Wear it in good health and good fun.

Don't mind the paint stains. 

R.'

The corners of the blond's lips quirked as he considered the note for another moment before folding it again and slipping it in his desk, regarding his reflection in the mirror. The jacket wasn't something he would normally wear, but he liked the way it felt around him, warm and secure. He found himself smiling for the first time that day, smoothing the sleeves carefully and tucking a stray curl behind his ear. 

A very good find indeed.


	2. Big Bad Wolf

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. Marius never returned to the dorm, and Enjolras figured that he’d ended up spending the night with Cosette. It was just as well, he got the place to himself, and he would see Marius at tomorrow's meeting anyway. 

His ‘dinner’ was a glass of milk, and he studied through the night, finally passing out in his bed around the same time the sun was rising and waking around noon. After brushing his teeth and his hair, he considered the green hoodie he’d hung in his closet, finally settling on a pair of beige trousers and a heather grey t-shirt, pulling the jacket on last. It wasn’t a terrible combination, and the hood would certainly keep the crisp October bite at bay. 

Texting Combeferre that he was going to the library if the man wished to join him, Enjolras slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and headed out, only slowing as he passed the café and chewing his bottom lip. He knew he didn't have enough for food, but perhaps… Scrounging in his wallet produced just enough change for a coffee and he thanked the gods, going inside to order and adding an excessive amount of cream and sugar to try and delude himself into thinking he was drinking one of the sweet espresso beverages he much preferred. 

Armed now with coffee, he set himself up in his usual spot in the library, deeply grateful that caffeine worked as an appetite suppressant. With any luck, he’d be able to get through the evening, and he could think about what to do for dinner when he got home. 

He looked up when Combeferre approached a few minutes later, smiling automatically. For Enjolras, seeing Combeferre seemed to be the best cure for any ailment he might be suffering from. The man’s presence always brought a sense of peace, of comfort and manageability, that everything could be handled and wasn’t as daunting as it seemed. Now, the guide took in Enjolras’ bloodshot eyes and tired bearing but he made no comment, lifting his brow at the sight of the jacket. 

“Is that new?” he hummed as he sat across from his friend, as though he couldn’t easily identify every article of clothing that Enjolras owned. The two men had been friends since they were children, and there was nothing about Enjolras that Combeferre didn’t know. Well, perhaps one or two things, one of which was the fact that the blond was going hungry more often than not.

Enjolras glanced down, smoothing the front of the jacket almost self-consciously. 

“Technically. I borrowed it,” he explained, leaning over to pull a notebook out of his bag. The only reason he could get away with the slight fib to Combeferre was that it was more or less true. The jacket had belonged to someone else, and he had acquired it. 

Combeferre nodded and didn’t press the subject, to Enjolras’ relief. They fell into their usual rhythm of companionable silence and occasional conversation about a course or that evening’s meeting. They started packing up around five and walked across the street to the Musain. 

They were the first to arrive, heading upstairs to the small but intimate loft that had been designated specifically for les Amis de l'ABC. Next to wander in were Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Bahorel, followed almost immediately by Marius and lastly by Joly and Bossuet. Feuilly had sent Enjolras a text saying he’d been asked to pull a double and that he wouldn’t be able to make it, and the blond assured him not to worry about it. He would have forgiven Feuilly just about anything. The hard-working young man was truly the soul of the people, in the chief’s eye. A few other students trickled in, curious newcomers, and Enjolras greeted them personally with a warm smile and a firm handshake, drawing in those at the edges like moths to the flame with undeniable charisma. 

While he did, Courfeyrac took the opportunity to chat with Combeferre, the center’s brown eyes warm and bright as he joked with the guide. He hadn’t known Combeferre as long, having met him and Enjolras in secondary school, but the three men had immediately hit it off. Recently however, though his loyalty and love for Enjolras hadn’t faltered in the slightest, Courfeyrac found that something in him had changed when it came to the well-read, even-spoken guide. He looked forward more and more to the moments he might get to spend alone with him, he made more and more of an effort to make the man laugh. His heart beat faster for the most ridiculous of reasons, like when Combeferre ran long, slender fingers through his dark hair to tame it, or adjusted his glasses, for gods sake. 

Courfeyrac was not a man with stars in his eyes. He was no stranger to one-night stands and casual encounters. He charmed any and all who met him, and had his pick of partners to share his bed. Lately though, he found himself gravitating towards a certain type; tall, dark-haired young men. If they wore glasses, all the better. This was when he wasn’t sleeping with Jehan. They were far from a couple, but Courfeyrac and the poet adored each other fiercely, and more often than not they were glad to share each other’s company.

Enjolras pretended not to notice any of it. Not the way Courfeyrac seemed to strive to win Combeferre’s attention, nor the way the guide’s serious demeanor seemed to change around the brunet. It wasn't like anything was actually going to happen. Combeferre had promised him that nothing would ever come between them. But could Enjolras blame him if Combeferre showed interest in the handsome center’s charms? Whenever he considered it, he got an unpleasant sinking feeling in his chest, and he'd acted a bit colder than necessary towards Courfeyrac on more than one occasion.

But that evening, the meeting unfolded as it always did. Everyone took their usual places, Joly and Bossuet sharing a bottle of wine between them. The latter looked up, seeing Enjolras in the dark green hoodie, and he blinked, frowning a little in confusion.

“Isn’t that-?”

Joly had also noticed, and immediately silenced the man by nudging him sharply in the side with a bony elbow. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, just that it seemed the right thing to do. The jacket was familiar to him as well, but something told him it wasn’t a subject to be broached just then. So he shook his head a little, apologizing to Bossuet with a sweet kiss on the cheek and by refilling his glass. 

Enjolras didn't seem to notice, slipping out of the hoodie and hanging it on the back of his chair before beginning the meeting, welcoming the newest attendees and bringing them up to speed. Their latest effort was organizing an open mic fundraiser at the coffee shop where Feuilly worked to benefit homeless students. Enjolras had been taken aback to find out that several of his classmates were living out of their cars, and after more extensive research, he’d learned just how prevalent the issue was. He might be having trouble affording food, but at least he didn’t have to worry about where he was going to sleep, and he’d been more determined than ever to give all of what little he had. 

Jehan was helping to spread the word about the event among their artist friends, as well as working on a poster. Feuilly was getting the logistics sorted at his work, Joly and Bossuet were in charge of tickets, with Combeferre’s help, and Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Marius were speaking to local business owners who might be interested in participating. Everything was going smoothly, and Enjolras was pleased with the progress they were making. He called the meeting to a close around nine, packing up his things and pulling the jacket back on, still not noticing the inquisitive way Bossuet was studying him. 

“Get home safe, Little Green Riding Hood,” he heard Courfeyrac tease, the center tugging on a fold of the hoodie. “Don’t stop on the way or the Big Bad Wolf might get you.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, pulling the garment away from him. 

“I think you’ve finally found an appropriate brand of humor,” he hummed coolly. “Nursery rhymes seem well-suited to your maturity.”

Courfeyrac blinked, his smile slipping the slightest bit, and Combeferre glanced at Enjolras, stepping in.

“He was only teasing, Enjolras. The jacket is a bit big on you. But we would both like for you to get home safe.”

The words were spoken evenly, if firm, and Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

“I will. I’ll text one of you when I’m home and you can be sure to let the other know.” 

He didn’t bother waiting for a reply, grabbing his bag and leaving the Musain, not hearing the way Combeferre sighed softly behind him or seeing the way he smiled tiredly when Courfeyrac squeezed his arm. He supposed he shouldn’t have been terse with Courfeyrac. He knew the man was only teasing, but he hadn’t been able to help it. Perhaps he was just tired. Or hungry. He was definitely hungry, but there was nothing to be done about that, except have another glass of milk for dinner.

It wasn’t a particularly long walk back, and there were still people milling around when he got back to campus. He cut through the student union, drawn by the lights and quiet hum of activity, walking down the hall past a small alcove of vending machines. He paused, eyeing one that sold instant coffee. The snob in him was repulsed, but the majority of him that had a slightly unhealthy dependent on caffeine eyed the machine like it was a temple. 

He found himself just standing in front of it, staring, knowing full well he had no money in his wallet. It was only after a minute that he realized there was someone beside him and he turned, embarrassed. The man was looking at him with an odd expression, and at first Enjolras thought he was amused by the sight of the blond standing motionless in front of the vending machine, but then he saw that the man seemed more surprised, pleased even, and he frowned when the other didn’t volunteer an explanation.

“Sorry, were you going to get something?” he asked, moving away from the machine, and the man blinked, shaking his head a little and smiling, though Enjolras thought it looked more like a smirk.

“No. Well, yeah, but not right this second. Did you find my note?”

“I’m sorry?” 

Rather than answer, the man simply gestured to the pocket of the green hoodie, and Enjolras stared at him in confusion, glancing down. 

“What? Oh-” Realization slowly dawned on him and he looked back up. “This was your jacket?”

The man nodded, looking him over, and though Enjolras knew he was probably just inspecting the hoodie, he couldn’t help shifting slightly. 

“I’m glad it found a good home,” the stranger hummed, his smile warmer than it had been before, and he slipped his hands in his own pockets. “Looks good on you. A little big, but at least it’s warm, right?”

“…Yes,” Enjolras managed after a pause, not at all sure what to make of the man standing across from him. He had unruly black curls and green eyes so dark it was almost difficult to tell what color they actually were. An olive complexion showed from beneath dark stubble and his nose was slightly crooked like it had been broken before. Perhaps more than once. He couldn’t help recalling the part of the note about the jacket having seen the floor of ‘many a bedroom’, and he saw the man had paint on his hands. 

“So what does ‘R’ stand for?” he found himself asking, and there was a forced nonchalance to his tone. 

“Grantaire,” the man replied with a grin, sticking out his hand suddenly, almost last minute, and Enjolras hesitated before taking it, finding the man’s grip warm if slightly rough. 

“Enjolras.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Grantaire smiled, turning to the vending machine and glancing over his shoulder. “Did you want something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen that look before. It’s the ‘I’d kill for a cup of coffee but my pockets are so barren they’re collecting cobwebs’ look.”

Rather than be amused by the man’s wit, Enjolras found himself annoyed, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Do I look that much like I need a hand out?” he asked, regarding Grantaire coldly now.

“No, I’m just saying I’ve been there before. It’s rough, I get it, living is expensive.”

“I’m not a charity case, thank you,” Enjolras muttered, and his irritation only grew when Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself. Just so you know though, pride isn’t all that great at keeping you warm at night.” 

He shrugged and turned back to the machine, pulling out a crumpled bill, and Enjolras was left staring incredulously at his back. Who the hell did he think he was? He opened his mouth to say something else before abruptly turning and stalking out of the alcove, continuing down the hall and out of the student union, heading to his dorm. 

He pulled off the jacket on impulse, the cold night air biting instantly at his skin as he slung it over his arm, getting his ID out of his wallet and carding into the building. 

He couldn’t shake the interaction from his head, replaying it. What were the odds that in a school that large, he would run into the man whose jacket he’d grabbed nearly at random from one of a dozen boxes? And who said things like that? So blatant and unconcerned, like he didn’t give a damn about offending someone?

Enjolras didn’t know why he was so annoyed. It wasn’t like he’d never had an unpleasant interaction with someone before, and he did his best to push it from his mind, but he was still aggravated when he got to his dorm so that he barely said a word to Marius, who was sitting on the couch with some books and his laptop. 

He closed the door to his room, tossing the jacket onto the chair and glaring at it for a moment before grabbing his own laptop and setting himself up at his desk. He had too much to do to let some bad-mannered, scruffy-looking artist get under his skin, and he busied himself with schoolwork and preparations for the fundraiser. 

Still, at one point in the night, Courfeyrac’s words from earlier came back to him. ‘Get home safe, Little Green Riding Hood’.

Well. It seemed like he’d run into the Big Bad Wolf after all.


End file.
